


Saw You Standing on the Corner

by Highsmith (quimtessence)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Billy Hargrove Is Alive Because I Say So, Biting, Car Sex, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hangover Recovery Fic, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Harringrove for Australia (Stranger Things), Humour, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Masturbation, Post-Season/Series 03, Shockingly Competitive Sex (Sarcasm)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23150188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/pseuds/Highsmith
Summary: "Think you can do better?" And that's, uh. That's a direction he hasn't considered their afternoon would be taking, but it's going there, oh yes, it absolutely is going there, because this is Billy Hargrove he's talking to here.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 10
Kudos: 240
Collections: harringrove for Australia





	Saw You Standing on the Corner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Buildyourwalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buildyourwalls/gifts).



> @buildyourwalls: Finally! I'm pretty sure there are various places in the world where it's still the fourteenth for sure, and I hope it still is where you are. If not, I'm truly sorry for my tardiness I hope you like it regardless of my bad timing! Thank you so much, Geralynn! <3
> 
> Big thanks to Tracy, of course, for... everything. Title from Bad Company.

Calling the first time Steve hooks up with Hargrove a frantic, rushed affair is putting it lightly. Like, dude's an animal, what the fuck. Steve's bottom lip stays swollen for _days_ , throbbing each time the skin stretches, which is pretty much every time Steve smiles or opens his mouth to eat or speak. The sweet little hurt of it has his blood flowing a little faster, face flushing all the way down his chest to his ribs, and causing Robin to cock her eyebrow at him suspiciously among the stacks of returned tapes scattered along the counters at Family Video.

Maybe thinking about this at work isn't the best plan. Not that Steve has a plan here. Other than being inconspicuous, which he is currently failing at.

It takes about a week for it to heal decently enough where he no longer even notices it in the mirror, though the phantom sensation of Hargrove viciously biting down only to instantly lick it clean is still an unwelcome companion, mostly because of the whole blushing unattractively at odd moments in public situation. They haven't done anything since, but not because Steve's, like, _unwilling_. He can't exactly consent if Hargrove's become invisible. Takes two to tango, etcetera.

At least Steve is reasonably sure Hargrove seems to have altogether disappeared and isn't simply avoiding him. Around eighty percent sure. More like seventy if he really thinks about it. Definitely over fifty, because at fifty he's asking Max about it, and won't _that_ be a conversation for the ages.

But he doesn't have to, because, at about when the ten-day mark on their rushed jerk-off session hits, as Steve is leisurely and very much casually walking to his car after his shift lets out, Hargrove is far less casually crossing the street on the other side as if to avoid Steve's workplace. And, as it so happens, their eyes happen to meet from several yards away in the most awkward moment of Steve's life, bar that one time in first grade when he peed his pants on the monkey bars in front of Tracy S.

There's no spontaneous urination this time around, thank fuck, but Steve has the same distinct urge to run away and hide. Hargrove isn't looking much better. However, what Steve has learnt from first-grade mishaps is that running away will most certainly not help in any way whatsoever. Neither does being a dumbass, but that's a completely different thing altogether. Which might be why he abandons his path to the Beamer, and instead proceeds to cross the street to where Hargrove is standing stiffly, though he doesn't _seem_ as if he's about to bolt.

Getting to him in record time for a man mentally telling his legs not to run, Steve finds he doesn't have much of a clue as to what he wants to say now that he's here.

He goes with, "Uh," which is horrible, and Hargrove seems to agree. He frowns and puckers his lips as if Steve is truly the dumbest person alive, but he does sigh and wipes at his brow the next moment, a definite improvement.

"Hello to you, too, Harrington."

Yes. Of course. Saying hello. Always a good opening.

"Hi. Yes. Hello," he says in quick succession.

Hargrove frowns again, though this time it seems to have an aura of amusement, which Steve will _absolutely_ take.

"In a hurry?" he ends up asking. And Hargrove hesitates, a weirdness in itself, and then says, rather slowly, "No, not really." Looks for a moment as if he'd like to glance at the watch he doesn't have on his wrist. "Got a minute?" Says it as if he was the one to approach Steve. Says it offhandedly. And Steve's got plenty of minutes.

Steve must nod, or give some sort of signal or something, because next thing he knows they're walking side by side towards the Camaro very obviously parked a block away up the street. How Steve failed to spot it, it's unclear, seeing as it's closer to Family Video than the Beamer is. He doesn't have an issue with leaving his car parked in town for a couple of hours, is pretty certain Hargrove will drive him back to pick it up at some point. Right now he's far more interested in wherever he's being taken, which shortly turns out to be the quarry. Steve should have known; after all, it's where they hooked up last time.

After Hargrove parks, Steve has an inkling he should be asking some questions, such as why he got the avoidance treatment for a week and a half, not that Hargrove owes him anything, but he has trouble getting much out when Hargrove's already in his space, plastered to his front as much as the front seat of the Camaro allows, nosing at the side of his face interestedly, and Steve's hands are already on his shoulders bringing him closer.

"That's not where my mouth is," Steve mutters. It's a bad joke, not a joke at all. Doesn't know why he says it anyway, other than it being the truth. Other than him wanting to get kissed, to make out in a nice car like boys his age should. Gets a little hard just thinking about being normal with the strangest person he knows.

Against the sensitive skin on the side of his neck Hargrove's laugh spends puffs of air through his nose. Steve almost wants him to suck a hickey there, something for everyone to see tomorrow. The mere thought has his erection aching in his shorts. The visibility of what they're doing, together, in a place like Hawkins—that does it for him, it seems.

A little muffled, his lips barely touching him, butterfly kisses at best, even though Steve's already a little melted in his spot, Hargrove asks, "What if it's not your mouth I'm after?"

"My dick's not there either."

And this time it's an actual good joke. Or, like, better than the last. But Hargrove immediately stops. Strings holding up every part of his body cut all at once. He leans back out of Steve's space, leaves a foot between them, then a little more until he's close enough to the driver's side door Steve isn't sure he's not about to bolt.

"A bit presumptuous, aren't we." The dip in temperature in the car is more than noticeable. Steve's not sure what he did wrong, or what it was about what he said that got Hargrove pissed, but it's so sudden it's giving him whiplash.

He looks to the side and back again, feeling warm through his entire body, trembly and uncertain. He states simply, "I'm into it." It's even the truth, as embarrassing as it may be. His fingers tap a restless rhythm against his own knees, the denim scratchy beneath his fingertips, a welcomed distraction.

Hargrove, for his part, glares past his shoulders, eyes quietly furious for as much as they refuse to settle on Steve's. It's odd and unnerving, and definitely oddly unnerving.

"Hey. What's up?" he asks, a little concerned, a little narrow-eyed.

Eyes suddenly snapping to his, Hargrove says, "Nothing," but the word barely escapes from between his lips, his jaw tense. Then, expression shifting minutely, "Are you?"

"Am I what?"

Hargrove scoffs. "Into it?" he says impatiently, as if Steve's wasting his time somehow. And that's about when it occurs to him that he's missing something here.

His mouth opens and closes several times before he settles on what he wants to say. "My mouth was literally on your dick a week ago." A little crass, yes, but technically accurate, even though that ended pretty quickly with Hargrove messing up his face before Steve could do more than mouth at the tip. Regardless, he thinks it sums up his standpoint more than adequately.

"Ten days," Hargrove corrects him absently.

And, all right, it's not that Steve wants to whip out the ol' index finger and wag it in Hargrove's general direction, but. "Ha! Yes! Ten days. During which you made like a ghost."

Granted, Hargrove does look vaguely contrite at that, but Steve's idea of a good time is not to get ignored for no apparent reason, much less to have some dude with questionable hair choices avoid him all over town, therefore he stands his ground for far longer than he usually lasts in these types of situations, which, given that he immediately cracks under the pressure of puppy eyes, is saying quite a lot.

Crack he does, in the end.

"OK, so are we done with you being a dick now?" he ultimately asks. Hargrove shifts forward on the front seat until he's within touching distance once more, so Steve takes that as a yes, even though he'd prefer a verbal confirmation of the end of said dickishness. "Well?" he prompts.

Instead of being less of a dick, Hargrove does with, "Don't ask dumb questions," and Steve has a thing or two to say when it comes to dumb things in general, but Hargrove stance is, for once, welcoming, and Steve can't help but take advantage before the mood sours again.

Lifting his hands to place them once more on Hargrove's shoulders, he licks at his lips and considers his words. His fingers clench and unclench, a little restless now that he can touch. "I can be a little dumb sometimes." Hargrove rolls his eyes, but doesn't interrupt. "Do you mind?"

Lifting an eyebrow, Hargrove replies, "I don't mind," lightly, though it's clear there's a question mark in his eyes.

Dragging his palm down from shoulder to chest to groin, Steve holds eye contact and hopes he's not about to get cockblocked yet again. His fingers play with the topmost button on his jeans.

"Sure you don't mind?" Hargrove bites the corner of his mouth before shaking his head no. That's permission enough where Steve's concerned. He thumbs the first button open, and the next, then the remaining ones until his fly's open. He reaches inside carefully, as if trying not to spook a wild animal, keeps his gaze soft, nonthreatening. Hargrove must know what he's doing because his eyes narrow slightly, but his hands remain by his sides, and his body stays open, even a little welcoming still, so Steve goes right ahead and fingers the waistband of his shorts lightly before dipping his fingers inside to draw him out and palm him evenly.

Watching Steve's hand moving on his dick, Hargrove comments, "Weak, Harrington," sounding more than a little breathless. Steve would laugh his ass off if he weren't worried it'd turn into a moan halfway through. He's trying not to glance downwards himself, as that would make him cave for sure, but the feel of Hargrove's cock, hard and hot and wet at the tip is enough to have him dizzy with it anyway.

"Think you can do better?" And that's, uh. That's a direction he hasn't considered their afternoon would be taking, but it's going there, oh yes, it absolutely is going there, because this is Billy Hargrove he's talking to here.

Not wasting a second Hargrove's got Steve's jeans unbuttoned. With the closeness, their wrists easily brush in the enclosed space, and the skin there tingles.

It's not hot inside the Camaro, can't be when the heat's off and it's late September in Indiana, but Steve's temples itch with perspiration, and his skin is on too tight, and Hargrove's palm is flying on him, friction just right from sweat and pre-come alone.

Saying that the world goes a little soft around the edges is definitely more sugary than Steve's brain can usually come up with, but it kind of feels like that anyway.

After a few more pumps of his hand, movements oddly in sync, it feels as if Steve's jerking _himself_ off, but it's not quite the same. A twist of his wrist doesn't translate to his cockhead spurting out pre, that's Hargrove's dick which does it, hot little dribbles into Steve's palm to add to the wetness. But, when Hargrove changes gears, tightens his hold and goes hard, Steve doesn't expect it, doesn't know for a second it's coming, and maybe that's what gets him in the end. He bites the inside of his cheek, but his moan still turns into a grunt, the sound still too loud in the confines of the car. He smears the inside of Hargrove's wrist, but he's still got his other hand on his shoulder, and he uses it to hold himself up, hold himself steady, even as he wants to collapse all over Hargrove's front. But he's got enough left in him to keep his hand moving on him.

Their faces lean in close, sharing breath. Steve's got his eyes open, hasn't closed them the entire time, but Hargrove is keeping his tightly shut. The sounds of his heavy breathing are louder than they should be. Steve finds them oddly soothing, the rhythmic cadence of them. But the rhythm's lost soon enough. Bucking his hips and fucking Steve's fist wildly, it's only a matter of a couple of seconds more before he's coming, too. Then they both reach for the dashboard and tissues.

They end up leaning shoulder to shoulder against the headrest, catching their respective breaths, not looking at anything in particular. The view out of the Camaro's front window is a boring clump of trees and sky in the distance, and it's kind of perfect as far as views go when all you've got to do is slow your breathing back to normal. Slowly, out of the corner of his eye, Steve gets glimpses of Hargrove's head coming down to his shoulder. Face-first, he makes contact with the skin above Steve's collar. It's not the worst thing ever. In fact, Steve kind of likes the weight of it there.

He doesn't know why he brings it up, but he does. "What was that about earlier?"

Truthfully, he doesn't expect an answer. Hargrove's face doesn't move from where it's buried into the side of his neck, and Steve can breathe again when there's seemingly no explosion forthcoming. A few second tick by, and then—

"Motherfucker!" Steve jumps almost out of his seat. "You bit me," he splutters, palm going to the side of his neck, even though he's more shocked than anything else.

Folding his arms across his chest, Hargrove points out, "You were asking dumb questions again."

And Steve should be mad or something, but instead he lets out a breath and says, "Come here," and Hargrove... does.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: [rhubarbdreams](https://rhubarbdreams.tumblr.com/)


End file.
